Bike I propose a story taken from my book, "Way of the Municipal House No. 1" The Parachute
mechanical ... is my Benotto, an old bicycle racing in flea markets you can find a little more than ten euro.
With a company so it is hard to feel lost. Most of the splendor achieved when the coupling travel bags on the luggage rack, a rear and two front sixty liters of twenty-five liters each, plus seventy-five liters a backpack for emergencies or for travel in which the bicycle Overall it would be: a trip to the mountains or appointment of love. A weight that varies from one hundred and twenty pounds to one hundred and forty pounds of obsolete mechanical, including passenger. Passion, love and determination launched downhill at forty miles an hour, in which a hole is not a distraction or advance may send you to the creator. It's a little 'how to throw down with an old Moto Guzzi without the motor. In
curve does not mess around.
One hundred and twenty, thirty, forty pounds, after a few meters begin to live its own life and if you're not careful where they want to lead them straight and wide curves ruinous. For fuck just a little less than a minute.
Fear? Always!
Fear and absolute control of the medium can give you moments of adrenaline thrill that brings you closer to the sense of omnipotence.
"Fuck what I can do this all wrong,"
And then go beyond, always a little further, to the ass of the bus (to avoid friction in the wake of the wind) to sit in the back of the saddle, chest bent forward parallel to the road with the tip resting on the navel and the nose of the saddle almost leaning on the handlebars of the pipette, aerodynamic position by virtue downhill. Thirty, forty, fifty, sixty and eighty miles an hour, always the butt of the bus. I take to widen the curve, braking decided to close the left, he takes the right lane.
The first has already flown, two, three, four seconds. I put the pace of change along 53/14.
"Fuck Stephen does not do is fucked up! Get out! "
are close to the front wheel of the bus, can not resist the temptation to shove his hand inside me to scroll the wheel on the fingertips with the grin of one who strokes his head to a child, and then on. One, two, three, four seconds in front of him.
BIIIIIIP!!
"Fuck you and your eighteen-wheel tractor" A
overtaken by "Anonymous Cyclists", the insane and the funny part that survives in every true cyclists who once dreamed of racing and a professional career. I think it is so different from the jump with parachute from an airplane, but because I feel dizzy I touch the ass of the couriers and the utility of variously equipped.
of my parachute mechanic I wanted to know everything, every single ball, the bottom bracket, fork, hubs, and even the wheels of change. However
down I think I see the eighth ball of the front hub, which comprises the bearing which regulates the scroll wheel.
thought, when I face a descent. goes to the lining of the bearing, which two years ago I could not remedy. Every time I hear her cry and feel the vibrations just above the brake levers, on which I always supported the indices and inches.
"Come on, do the good, take me I send you all the way down and then retired. I swear that if you take me down without making jokes, you change all the bearings and fattening. " Promises to be a sailor! It goes on like this for two years. In this condition disappears
emergency, when you go down to seventy or eighty miles per hour, the emergency fades, there is no time for any emergency brakes you only need to check the entry in the corners or to control ' output is too large. When you're loaded like a mule and travel down to sixty, seventy miles an hour, to come without a helmet, the final two remain: arrived safely, or smash the bones at risk of life, the better a chair with wheels, for the rest of life.
Personally I prefer to die down for a fucking virus that I have ever seen, I prefer even the eighteen wheels of a truck on the rump without agony, without consciousness, and especially to survive without pain.
Indeed, now that I think I would not mind bring me my virus with all its fucking CD4 and viral load in tow, to see them in twenty feet of asphalt coated, in the URL of one stop burning.
The book is available in bookstores from May
As for your bike, I remain available to come to your home or at work to make repairs of any kind. The price is indicated in the right column of Blog
